Mayhem
by JohnnyFrost
Summary: A novelization of Mission 10, Mayhem, from Ace Combat: Zero. The story is told from multiple points of view, from a ordinary Belkan pilot, Galm 1, Schwarze Leader, and Wizard 1.
1. An Untold Story

May 28, 2010

Sudentor, North Osea

She couldn't believe her eyes at all the things she saw in that small box. For nearly twelve years, she'd wondered why every year at this date he came here. This was why. She never wondered why because her husband would just go into the basement at exactly noon and look around for awhile. He even took off work to do this. But there was also the reason behind the reason. All the things that were here were not an explanation of why this day.

Margaret Rosencrantz's life had been filled with all the things that made up the typical Osean dream. A modest house, a wonderful spouse, a trio a wonderful kids, a car or two, a nice backyard, a peaceful neighborhood in the suburbs, and all the things they'd worked so hard for and rightfully deserved. She was the ideal Osean, representing the very best in a citizen and a female: strong, compassionate, hard-working, and patient. But Jan was not a typical Osean...he wasn't even Osean at all. He was a Belkan by birth and exhibited all their traits: tall, hard working, ambitious and prideful. She knew little of his past except he came to this county like many immigrants. Or so it was thought. She looked into the chest and into a past that for some reason...he didn't want her, their kids, much less anyone else, to know.

The first thing she pulled from the chest was a strange uniform with a modest variety of medals and ribbons. She knew little about military affairs, but this was obviously a military uniform. The next thing she pulled out was a small card of sorts; an identification card. She had high-school Belkan and could read some the words. She saw a picture of a much younger Jan at exactly fifteen years prior. This meant he was about twenty-seven then. There was a triangular symbol at the top left with black, yellow and white in it...similar to the Belkan national flag. Above his name, there was a series of triangles; four to be exact. Below it was the word Major, which meant the same thing in both languages. Above that there were words; they were the dead giveaway: Belkan Air Force. It didn't take her long to put two and two together. After action reports, promotion and administration letters, and pictures...so many pictures. She knew little if anything about airplanes. There was one picture that stood out. It was worn as if it had been held by hand so many times over. There was Jan and there were two other men standing next to him. One was taller, the other shorter. But they all looked similar. She finally deduced that these men were her husband's brothers...the ones he said died so long ago. But it was apparent why this was. But all this time he'd been hiding the fact he was a fighter pilot and from what she could tell...and extremely good one at that. There were many references to things like, "Ace" or "Experten" or things of that sort.

It was the ultimate irony. She assumed he was merely that kind, quiet accountant she met over a decade ago in this very city. There was never an hint that he was a "fighter ace". But why would he keep something like this a secret? Her family had been against her marrying "Belkan trash" as her brother put it. After all, he'd been in the army during that war. To merely disdain him now because he'd been on the opposite side so long ago was ludicrous in her mind, but just as that thought came into her head, there was a creaking sound and she jumped up almost hitting her head on the short roof  
"So you found it. I can't believe it took you so long to do it though." Jan said while laughing.

"I...I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was just..." Margaret stammered out.

"Ah, it's no problem. That was a long time ago. I was a different person then, and that had no effect on what I am today." said Jan in an attempt to try to 

"Liar. It had to do something to you! Why didn't you tell me any of this? Did you think I would hate you or something?" Margaret said in a strange mixture of confusion, humor, and anger.

"No...that's not exactly the reason." Jan said.

"Then why?"

Jan walked slowly over to a stack of boxes and sat down.

"Let me tell you something. You tell people about what you do, you can easily explain it. You can tell them about your day in simple words. You can say, 'I did this' and 'I did that' and 'This is what I do'. But back then there was...there was no easy way to do that. I couldn't explain what happened to me back then in terms you'd understand. So I simply left it out. You know what they say, what you don't know won't hurt you." said Jan trying to drop the subject.

"Try me. Tell me...you can't keep all that bottled up inside!"

"I've tried for so long to forget. Forget about what happened this day fifteen years ago at this time. But I can't. I should have died that day."

"What!" Margaret said.

"Back then...my brothers and I came face to face with evil. Not like the evil we're tought exists. This was evil squared. Evil that only exists in the darkest of people. And only I survived. You may believe what you want, but what I'm about to tell you I've never told anyone else. It's a war story no one knows...and I hope no one needed to know until now."

"I knew that war was terrible. I always thought it was terrible for you having to leave your land in that fashion. But what happened? Did your brothers die?"

"They're all gone. Dead at the hands of those who weren't even fighting for pride or country like we were. And it was so sudden. There was no slow tragedy to this one." Jan said with a blank look on his face. "Well, I can't tell you that story without telling you about where it all went down and where I fitted in. There was a place back then...a place that is nothing more than a graveyard now. There, all the knights of the sky fought to the bitter end...and only ghosts live there now. Ghosts and shattered metal. They called it the Round Table. It's this strip of land between Belka and Ustio that both sides fought over long before the Belkan War. My brothers and I fought there many times. We had a lot of pride in our skill. We were defending our homeland. So we fought there when the Belkan War began. We didn't decide to start the war...we only had our orders. So we went up to fight. We fought for so long, even as we were losing. The day everything changed for me was this day at this time in 1995. It was an almost cloudless, beautiful day...it would have been if it weren't all the planes fighting there. It was the largest air battle of the war, and the probably the largest of all time; all hell broke loose there. It was a battle both sides had to win..."

**_Redtail_**

May 28, 1995

1150 hrs.

They were the Wespe Team, 26th Air Division of the 8th Tactical Fighter Squadron stationed just north of Sudentor. The squadron was a mixed bag of airplanes, as many squadrons were. The Belkan Air Force's school of thought was to have squadrons be able to perform as many multiple tasks as possible, such as air to air or air to ground. It was a nightmare for the maintenance crews at times. Things had gotten better with new organizational changes prior to the war. But now things were beginning to deteriorate. The situation was not desperate, but it was clear that it was now do or die.

The eighth squadron was an unusual mix of planes...and levels of experienced pilots. A few were aces with many hours of flying time and many were inexperienced rookies. But the same could be said about the enemy. The air forces of Osea and Ustio were totally unprepared for the sheer skill level of the Belkan Air Force. But now they were trying to win the war on simple numbers. It was going to be an uphill fight.

The only thing going through the mind of Jan Rosencrantz was the treachery of his enemies. Especially Osea. It was clear to all Belkan soldiers that Osea was the biggest threat as they were the ones with the biggest ambitions of all. It was clear to any idiot that Osea had only one goal: to cut up Belka and strip it of its natural resources like locusts. After all, they had tipped their hand to their greediness years ago during the sale of the Great Lakes. The only things that mattered to Jan was pride and the destruction of the enemy.

Rosencrantz was an academy trained ace, but long ago abandoned the rules of combat for a more simple one: In order to survive in war...one must fight and destroy the enemy or die. He'd been the first in his family to become a pilot and his younger brothers followed him into the air. Michael and Loren would follow him into hell. The difficulty and attrition of war had seen plenty of upheavals in the command structure. Combining it with his talents on the battlefield, Jan had gone from 2nd Lieutenant to the rank of Major in a mere six years. What made him stand out was not his respectable kill score of seventeen enemy aircraft, it was the unique way he painted his airplane. The plane was a light charcoal color, but the tails were blood red. Thus, Major Rosencrantz earned the nickname, "Redtail." Just before the Belkan War, his flight was formed proper with the request that his brothers be included in the squadron. Together they'd racked up forty-five victories. It was also Michael's idea to paint an intimidating black wasp symbol on the fighter's tail. Thus the "Wespe Team" was born. Each plane in the formation was a Su-27, but each one had a different color tail. Michael was Blue Tail, Loren was Yellow Tail.

They had journeyed out on sortie, but this was no ordinary sortie. In the distance there nothing but contrails and they were all hovering over one place...the Round Table. It was the hallowed place of aviators. For months, so many planes had fought over its chaotic skies. Any other day, it would have been a normal encounter. But this place was now the centerpiece of what could have become the largest air battle of all time. The Round Table was a place the three brothers knew all too well.

"Red Tail, this is Yellow Tail. I see the other planes. Man, it seems everyone wants in on this."

"Roger. They actually think they can challenge us here?"

"They got lucky once. I'm surprised the boss survived his encounter here. Who was that pilot anyway? Wasn't he the one that destroyed Excalibur?" asked Blue Tail.

"Probably. They reported that same plane that was in both places. That one pilot with the single red wing." said Yellow Tail.

"One of them I know has a single red wing...I've heard of this pilot. The Ustios call him "Solo Wing", but I have no idea about the other guy." said Blue Tail.

"But what are the odds of him being here? The man is a pretender if you ask me." said Yellow Tail.

"Let's see if he shows up. Until then, we'll smash our way through the allied forces. Don't let them take the Round Table."

"I wouldn't think he wouldn't show up. Expect the worst; brothers, let's dance!" said Red Tail.

Loren climbed just above Jan's plane and Michael dived below. They held the position and continued to break in the same direction until both men were on the opposing side of where they were originally. At the same time as the switch, Jan climbed through the gap then descended sharply, all three planes remaining in the regular formation.The allied forces had attacked into the Round Table with everything they had. Belka was equally eager to do the same. The Round Table was a matter of national pride and to lose it would have been a disastrous tactical, strategic, and morale loss. The "boss" was actually the former Rot Team commander, Lieutenant Colonel Detlef Fleisher, or the "Red Swallow" as he was affectionately called. He'd become the impromptu base commander after the previous one had been sacked for unknown reasons. But the high-turnover rate of officers was a blow for morale amongst the younger soldiers. It seemed things were getting more and more chaotic by the day. This fracas at the Round Table would probably just be another sign. The allied forces were diving into a cauldron of However, for the Belkan pilots it was another day at the office. Jan was determined to make the enemy afraid of him...to let the name "Red Tail" be the words that caused the enemy pilots to shutter at the mention of it.

Battles at B7R, contrary to popular belief, were almost never the swirling dogfights that one would imagine. These fights were usually the ones of the distant past. Planes were moving entirely too fast, missiles were flying all over the place, and the general chaos made it impossible to have a romantic style of battle. There unusually high-speed, one-pass attacks or larger-scale ambushes where skill and luck were intertwined. Because of the sheer amount of enemies that could appear, coupled with the different tactics, most fighters only carried a basic load out of two different types of missiles. The aces of the Round Table carried every missile they could put on their fighter, sacrificing extra fuel for weapon space. The aces had been the initial lucky ones to survive. They were now the skilled ones and the ones that everyone followed. But there were perhaps only a handful out of these aces out of the thousands that had fought there. There were probably no more than four or five dozen.

Jan's team was at an altitude of about 25,000 feet and they looked down at the battle below. Fights at the Round Table were fought at lower altitude for one reason and one reason only. The magnetic interference was actually worse at higher altitudes because of the unusual atmospheric phenomenon.

"My radar's going on the fritz No matter...let's get into the action." said Jan.

Below them, the many contrails they saw merged into a single point. The point of reference at the Round Table was the large mountain range that divided the border between Ustio and Belka. The trio dived down immediately upon this...only to be attacked seconds later. Jan heard the missile alert and quickly ordered everyone to take evasive action. The trio broke left only to receive another set of missile alerts, prompting another dodge. The nominal task for Jan was to find an enemy plane and destroy it. Again, his logic was simple: destroy the target and one didn't have to deal with it anymore.

_**Present Day**_

Margaret listened to her husband's long story. It was clear that something back then clearly disturbed him. But when he mentioned his brothers in the story she had to know one thing.

"So what where your brothers like?" she asked.

"Michael was the muscle. He was the brave one and he always volunteered for everything before he joined me. Loren was the brains. He was real smart and professional. But he was a bit cynical of everything and everyone. They were the nicest guys you could meet. They were the kind of people that would make people think differently about us. Even now, we are scorned. Maybe because we were trained and fine-tuned in a different era..an era where air combat was everything." Jan replied.

"And they called you Redtail? And you thought people would be intimidated by this?" Margaret said while chuckling.

"You'd be surprised. Air combat back then was very romanticized. However, the ones who did most of the romancing were the ones that never fought in the air at all. They only went by the stories. I really don't blame them. Most airmen that survived will not attempt to glorify their accomplishments...it just isn't looked at the same anymore. Back then it was a different story. You could be hated, feared, or revered but always respected."

"So you went into this...Round Table thing and shot down the enemies?" Margaret said.

"Yep. I was a fighter pilot. Our goal was to shoot down any enemy airplanes that challenged us or our allies; period, dot." Jan said.

Margaret paused. Was this the way her brother felt when he went to war? Was duty and responsibility everything? Was there no sense of remorse? Was Jan truly a bad person back then? All the questions flooded her mind like endless water from a broken dam.

"Did you ever feel bad about it? Shooting down...killing Oseans or Ustios or Yukes or whoever?"

"We did shoot down our fare share of allied pilots. But so did they of ours. It wasn't much different in conception. We were not apologetic about this because we knew we were doing our duty to our country, as any good soldier anywhere would say about their country. But...that can only go so far. At some point one has to stop and consider why they fight. Patriotism is good, but sometimes one must ask, 'At what cost?' But I'll get into that later. It was rather easy to shoot down the enemy. All we did was to find stragglers or break up formations and chase a single plane with long range missiles. We could stay out of harm's way and only go into the close range when needed. We fought for what seemed like a lifetime, but it was only ten minutes. But believe me, ten minutes at the Round Table _is_ a lifetime."

"So what happened next?"

"We fired some nine missiles at nine targets. At this point, we'd driven a wedge into the allied defensive formation. We flew in and we found ourselves actually winning the battle. We'd taken out about just under half their planes. Then...things went badly. Very badly." Jan said, eyes looking sad.

"What happened?"

There was a long pause from Jan.

"It was here that he showed up. The man that shot me out of the sky. He was with a partner in the same plane he flew. The man's partner was something special. Apparently from our intelligence, he was called "Solo Wing" for his ability to land his plane with one wing."

"And the man?"

"He didn't really have a nickname that anyone knew. But he got one. It was a name that suited a guy like him...they called him "Demon Lord". He was good. He'd tear-assed all over Ustio and Northern Belka and no one could stop him. But the man was something else. We knew they were paid mercenaries from Ustio. We thought they were something more, but in fact they were just as they were. Greedy, selfish mercenaries without a sense of honor, not even in the smallest amount. Our base commander had been defeated by him and lived to tell the tale. His only standing order was to shoot them down on sight. Everyone hated those guys. They were many Ustio mercenaries out there. I took some...strange satisfaction from taking one out. They weren't protecting Ustio because they wanted to or had to...they did it for the money. And that is why everyone hated them. But he was respected though. I was filled with nothing but false bravado when I took him on. We all had it. I had no idea that things would turn out like this. Although...my life would have been much different if the opposite had happened..."


	2. Schwarze and the Demon Lord

_**Demon Lord**_

May 28, 1995

1200 hrs

They were the Galm Team, 6th Air Force Unit, 66th Tactical Fighter Squadron. In the beginning, Ustio had lost most of its air force in the early days of the war. In response, they put out a call for mercenaries to fly for them to keep the country in the fight until allied help arrived. They came and succeeded but at great cost. Mercenary pilots only had about a fourteen percent chance of survival during this period. That fourteen percent was now heading straight for the Round Table. The war was swinging in their favor and all the allied pilots knew they could break the back of the dreaded Belkan Air Force with a victory here. Belka had dominated the skies here, but that was about to change.

The only thing that was going through the mind of Soren Lockhart was how many enemies where there, how much cash he'd get for each enemy, and what the battle was like. Everything else was secondary. Even his wingman to a certain extent. If a fat check ment having to sacrifice his buddies, he'd probably do it. 'Well...maybe PJ', he thought once, 'annoying kid.' The entire thing was a sporting affair to him. The enemies were nothing but targets on a board and Lockhart held the darts. The only things that mattered to him were battle, blood and money. Yet his nickname confused everyone. Everyone thought of him as pompous and brutal, and yet the name "Cipher" was not a name you'd give an intimidating ace whose combat tactics resembled that of a wild, drunken back alley fight.

Solo Wing Pixy, or Larry Foulke, was a bit more enigmatic. He was good friends with Cipher despite his attitude towards war. But Pixy was respected just as much as Cipher was, although not hated no where near as much as Cipher. Perhaps it was envy more than disdain. Both of the planes they flew were the excellent F-15s. They were wonderful planes, but in the hands of the right pilots...they were peerless. The mercenaries flew at different altitudes. Galm Team was at about 15,000 feet. They could clearly see the battle even as the magnetic interference began to take hold.

"Galm Two to Galm One. There's the battle up ahead. Man, it's massive."

"This ain't what we saw back in April...that's for DAMN sure. Ah, hell and oh well. More action for us." Galm One said.

"Message from operations HQ. Forty percent of allied air forces have been lost." the AWACS Eagle Eye said in their craft high above the action.

"Roger. Time to dive into the fireworks!" said Pixy.

Both aircraft turned upside down and flew right into the Maelstrom. For Galm Two it was mostly about the mission and getting it done. For Galm One, it was all about what he could destroy. He looked on the enemies with glee. He was a bit annoyed he was having to pull the allied forces out of the fire, but the end result would be the same: plenty of credits and bragging rights.

It was so sudden. Jan had sliced his way through several enemy formations and had worked his team into the maelstrom of enemy activity. Michael was scanning around for enemy threats as any good wingman would. Suddenly, he saw two fighters diving right down on them.

"12:00! Two bandits coming in fast!"

Jan was caught of guard and he looked up at the incoming enemy. It was him.

Michael broke off and climbed straight up to engage the enemies. Loren followed as well. An enemy was flying straight for him and he didn't even notice until it was nearly too late. He moved to climb to battle. But he didn't see anyone except two planes leaving that particular area. One of them had a single red wing.

"Wespe One, Wispe Two respond!"

There was nothing but silence.

"Wespe One, Wispe Two respond!"

Then he looked below him...and saw two smoking trails falling towards the ground. It couldn't have been them, Jan thought. However, their signatures were not on the radar. There was no response from them. In the blink of an eye, what had once been a close knit, brotherly combat unit was no more. Only sadness filled the mind of Jan now. Then suddenly, anger. He only had one desire: to wipe the memory the mercenary dream team from the Round Table forever...

_**Present Day**_

The pain of losing someone was obvious to anyone. But Margaret had no idea how suddenly had been. She had no concept of air to air combat. She had no idea how quickly everything can change in a dogfight. She didn't know what a slow-speed rolling scissors was, a high-vertical yo-yo, or even an S-turn was.

"In air combat, it's not like on the ground where you can get shot and maybe die later. It's in an instant. Planes moving at 300, 400, 600, maybe even 1000 miles per hour...one mistake and you're dead. No one who hasn't flew in combat can really appreciate that."

"I'm sorry...I don't know what-Is there anything I can do?"

"I've been dealing with it for so long. I can't really go back to the place they were killed, I'll explain why later. But the only thing I could do after they were gone was to hunt down the enemies. But when I started, I noticed that our allies were shaken. The radio chatter was insane. All the inexperienced pilots were running scared at the mere sight of these guys. The veterans tried to keep them in formation but for the most part a lot of pilots were scared away...and for good reason. At that point, everyone must have felt the war was hopeless. The veterans couldn't win due to simple numbers, and the rookies gave up upon sight of this terrifying mercenary. Hell, it wasn't just mercenaries they were afraid of.

_**The Revolutionary**_

May 28, 1995

1205 hrs

They were the Wizard team; members of the 8th Air Division, 32nd Tactical Fighter Squadron. They had come from Osea to help liberate Ustio from Belka. But one had to wonder what Osea's real motives where. Most of their top forces had been sent to Ustio rather than sent to help drive the Belkans out of the Great Lakes region. Joshua Bristow, the squadron's captain, had seen it all coming from a mile away. In some respects, he viewed all the soldiers, Belkan or Allied, as pawns in a political game. A political game that was costing many lives. He only wished to destroy the government of Belka as Belka was nothing without its leaders. But this was no mere house of cards. The Belkans were highly patriotic, as any good soldier or airmen would be, and fought to defend every inch of land they could. But what caused the war? The war was fought over borders; it was this very Round Table that started it all. It was a place he'd knew all too well. So if he could get rid of the borders...

However, that thought had to wait. His first priority was to survive and keep his men alive. But they were dying too. He'd come into the Round Table with 32 fighters. He was down to 20.

However, now that Pixy and Cipher had arrived, the Belkans began to get nervous. Bristow knew who the experienced pilots and the peerless aces were. They held their ground. Then again, the aces had unusual paint schemes. Bristow saw no need for such useless things. However, the enemy was now acting confused and were generally demoralized. It was the perfect time to capitalize on this.

"Wizard One to all planes. The enemy has broken formation. Separate and destroy them."

At first, there was little need for either Pixy or Cipher to shoot. Many of the fearful rookies had taken off only to be chased by them relentlessly. They'd heard the stories. They'd defeated Rot Team, the most popular aces in Belka. They'd beaten Gelb. They'd destroyed the Excalibur. They were the bane of the Belkan Air Force now.

"They just came in and flew out. Can't they fight with more discipline?" one of the Wizard teams pilots said.

Palmer, Bristow's subordinate, was on the other side of B7R. Bristow felt that Palmer and Cipher were alike in many respects. Both were fearless and uncontrollable in battle. But Palmer was no mercenary. Pixy was different. Cipher was a man of incalculable rage and callousness. But Pixy had more class and was generally more respectable. He'd spoken to him on several occasions. As he saw Pixy engage and destroy an enemy plane, no doubt an ace, he keyed the mic.

"Larry, can you hear me?"

"Well, well, well, look who it is...It looks like you've still got the touch."

"Everything's happening just as you thought." Bristow continued. He knew Pixy well and he could probably make a wonderful asset in the new war he was planning to fight, "It's about time we got out of this dead-end job."

"Not just yet." said Pixy.

Bristow was not surprised. Pixy never really rushed into major decisions. He figured that all he'd need was just a little more convincing...

to be continued...

**_Present Day_**

"The fighting began to reach a crescendo, then suddenly...everyone began to retreat. I was listening onto the open channels. I was flying all over the place trying to find him. Then I heard something unusual. Someone on the allied side began to refer to him as a 'demon'. And that's where the name 'Demon Lord' came from."

"Wow...scary stuff." Jan said in shock.

Jan looked away from his wife and stared into the darkness.

"What is it?"

"Funny you should mention that. The funny thing was that in the grand scope of things, that this Ustio mercenary wasn't the scariest thing on the battlefield at that time."

"Really? You've been going on about how this man killed your brothers...and he wasn't the main problem?"

"It's not that...what happened next was more like exacerbating the problem. We were in desperate need of reinforcements. But the reinforcements we got...well...they weren't really there to help us."

"What? Who were they?"

"It's difficult to describe. Let me put it to this way. You work for that store's management right? So imagine that everyday, you saw men with black suits just walking around looking at everyone and occasionally asking you somewhat rude questions. Then, one day you decided to take a half day off. You walk out the door and eight of the black suit guys pull out guns and mow you down?"

Margaret gave Jan a bewildered look.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she said.

"There was this mysterious squadron that often patrolled around the border areas or sent on secret missions. They called themselves Schwarze. We called them Vultures. It didn't matter if you were friend or foe; everyone was afraid of them. They were the only members of our air force that had the permission to engage enemy and friendly forces unconditionally. Their leader was, strangely enough from what I've heard, a Yuke. Their reputation at the Round Table was about as much my base commander's. I imagine the allied pilots there had some knowledge around their mythos. Their planes were painted solid black with blood red trims on their wings and tails; they just looked evil. And Schwarze just had to show up at the most inopportune time..."

_**The Writing on the Wall**_

May 28, 1995

1215 hrs

Cipher was having a field day. In fact, he'd never had this much fun in his life. The enemy was running scared and the entire battle was like a duck shoot to him. He was almost letting the battle get away from him as he kept trying to decide who to chase down next.

"The Round Table is nothing special. Stand back and get a good eyeful of this flying!" said PJ.

"That's because they're all running from Cipher." said Pixy.

Cipher and Pixy had downed ten enemies by now, but Jan was still aggressively pursuing them. However every time he got close to him, another allied plane, emboldened by the success of the "mercenary dream team", moved in to pick up what he must have thought would have been an easy kill. Pixy couldn't understand why the Belkans were still defending this place so fiercly. Any fool could read the writing on the wall. But they still kept on. Did the B7R really mean so much to them? It was nothing more than mountains and desert.

"Get out of the way!"

Jan could see several fighters moving for him. Two closed from up high at his twelve o'clock. Jan fired a single missile that was actually meant for Cipher, but the IR tracking ended up locking onto the interfering craft and shattering it into a million fiery pieces. But the battle was still hanging in the balance, aircraft were being shot down or fleeing, and Jan only had two missiles left. Bristow felt confident at this point. The battle was finally going well and it seemed that it would only be a matter of time before this mess was came to an end.

"Wizard One to all units. Belka's days are over. Let's wrap this up." said Bristow.

Jan didn't hear these words but he would have been hard-pressed to believe Bristow's words if he heard it. But things were certainly looking that way...

"We still have no reinforcements! What is High Command doing!" one pilot said.

The Belkans were on the verge of defeat. If no reinforcements came, they would have to do the unthinkable...abandon the Round Table. Jan and several of the remaining experienced pilots began to gather who was left to make one last attack at the "Demon Lord. They hoped one of the other master aces would come, like Schnee, to assist. What came instead was the last thing they needed.

_**Vultures**_

They were the Schwarze team; they were the 13th Night Fighter Air Division, 6th Tactical Fighter Squadron. They had chased him all this way. He was good, very good, thought Schwarze leader. Any normal person would consider it a shame to have to eliminate such a skilled and valued officer had they been in Domnic Zubov's position. But Zubov was no normal person. He cared little about this legendary...Huckebein. There was only the target and it didn't matter who it was. It didn't even matter if they were deserters or not. If the order came down, that pilot was going down...it was a simple concept. There were no illusions about what was going on. But he couldn't run forever. The only thing in front of him was the infamous Round Table; how well he knew it.

His wingman had formed up to being an attack run. As soon as they formed up, they would chase after the enemy proper. But Huckebein had gotten a hell of a head start. Zubov wanted to kill him before he entered the Round Table.

"Schwarze Leader to all units. The escaping craft is heading this way. Let's finish this little chase."

"Roger...wait...there's additional targets out there. Confirmed priority one targets." one of the Schwarze pilots said.

"Where?" Zubov asked.

"They're in the center. Huckebein just passed them."

As that very pilot passed by Cipher, he was incredulous that the enemy didn't even try to shoot him down. However, now that meant another free target. He still had plenty of ammo between Pixy and himself. He felt confident enough to go back into harm's way. But he didn't have to wait long...

Just as the annoying PJ pulled up beside his craft, there were new targets on the radar. There was no immediate concern as by now, most of the enemies were falling back.

"Hah! We did it." Pixy said pulling his own aircraft alongside Cipher's own. PJ had broke off, then suddenly pulled back into the pair.

"Another one's coming!" PJ said.

"Looks they're making one last desperate attempt to shoot us down. How pathetic." Cipher said.

But Pixy was not so optimistic. He suddenly realized what these planes were, even as Cipher did not. He had banked his plane and saw eight silhouettes in the distance.

"That plane...is that the Vulture!" said Pixy.

"The Vulture? Who the heck is that?" asked PJ.

"Just stick around and you'll find out...or better yet, go up to them and shake their hands. They sound like very hospitable people." Cipher said in his most scathing sarcasm.

PJ brushed off the sarcasm. Jan saw the approaching squadron too. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Oh no! What the hell are they doing here!" one pilot said.

Zubov turned into the enemy, but had lost track of his original target. But there "he" was. Huckebein couldn't escape into allied hands so easily. Zubov decided to shake thing up a little. For Cipher, whoever this Vulture was, he was unwisely communicating on an open channel. He'd heard rumors about the Belkans having squadrons that could shoot down any and all planes on a single order. It seemed he might actually have a challenge after all. He turned his plane into the approaching enemies with Pixy in tow.

"There's an annoying fly in the enemy. All right, change of plans. We'll deal with the escaped plane later. He's not going anywhere fast."

Schwarze began their usual wide formation to close like a vice around the target. Most of the Belkans there knew that this newly crowned "Demon Lord" was about to be liquidated. However, they themselves knew all too well that they could be next. Had it been anyone else, no one would have been concerned. It was clear Schwarze was not here to help them. Pixy put it perfectly.

"Guess they've come to pick on the dead again." he said.

Both groups began to fly towards each other in a deadly game of chicken.

"There they are. The mercenary dream team." Zubov said.

"Let's go hunt them down!" said his backseater.

Jan turned into the enemy. He figured if he could jump into the fight, he'd could eliminate the "Demon Lord" with ease. But he was deeply angry for an additional reason.

"Of all the squadrons they could have sent...they send them? This is the worst kind of support we could hope for!" said Jan.

Cipher maneuvered his plane past the enemy as they flew to surround them. He quickly turned to access the situation. They were flying what he believed to be Mig-31s, but he knew for a fact they were a menacing black. As soon as Cipher turned, there was nothing but an IR alert. Ciper simply pulled up the airplane and released several flares they passed harmlessly below him...but those were close. Cipher went into a steep dive and fired his guns at the first target he saw; one of the black planes was flying on a collision course with Cipher. It didn't take much to cause the enemy plane to fly out of control and plummet to the ground. Pixy had begun his own set of defensive maneuvers. He could clearly see the enemy plane falling. Zubov had seen it too, but he was not concerned. He still had the numbers advantage by far. Suddenly, the group of Schwarze planes closed back in to surround Cipher and Pixy. They all fired a large group of missiles at the pair. Even though they had shaken them off, Zubov intended to use the show of force to its fullest.

"Feeling a bit scared? Afraid? That's just death lurking around." he said.

But just as he said that, Pixy had generated a good angle on one of the enemy planes. He turned hard into the other plane, G-forces ripping at him. He finally got into position and fired a missile at close range, disintegrating his target. Zubov still wasn't concerned, as his ironic contempt of the 'Demon Lord' stated.

"Those mercenaries smell of money and death. They're nothing but vultures. Seeking profit through the blood of others." Zubov said.

After this display, Jan continued to look at the unfolding battle. He'd expected one or two planes to go down. He figured that the Vulture, as shifty and vicious as he was, would have the situation in hand. However, the other planes were already beginning to jump into the action. Wizard 1 was not blind to this. He'd seen those enemy planes take out many planes at once. However, Bristow was loathe to help Cipher out directly, as he was the complete antithesis of everything Bristow represented. Bristow decided to keep his men out of the main fight. If the Vulture and the Demon Lord wanted to fight it out like the wolves they were, it was their business.

Jan decided that now was the time. He pointed his nose at the swirling dogfight and flew right into it. Several of the remaining Vultures flying around and past Jan. He went into a steeper angle and saw the mercenary team right below him. He'd flown into a perfect position. But suddenly, there was a missile alert!

"What the...?"

On instinct, Jan had loosed his countermeasures then broke off from the fight. He'd expected it to be an allied plane; however, it was not. To Jan's exacerbated horror, it wasn't even a member of the Schwarze team. It was a group of his own allies! There were several bullets that hit his airplane.

"What are you doing? Cease fire immediately!"

"Get out of the way! This is my kill!"

"Danton? Is that you!"

"This guy wiped my squadron out! I'm taking this guy out, with or without your help!"

"Forget that! I want my shot at the Demon Lord. We outnumber this guy, he's got no where to go. Us in Bussard Squadron will have the honor of shooting him down!"

"What the hell is going on here? Is everyone fighting over who gets to shoot these guys down!"

Suddenly, another Mig-31 sliced right above Jan. The confusion was intense. He'd lost sight of his enemy. The sudden squadron rivalry was nothing short of bizarre. However, he was having trouble keeping his plane level. Suddenly, he looked above and saw Solo Wing closing in another Schwarze fighter. The dream team was making it look easy. Zubov was now beginning to be concerned. He'd lost a third aircraft and Huckebein was now off the radar.

"I've lost sight of our primary target! Where is he?" Zubov said angrily.

"You think he was shot down?"

Cipher realized that this squadron was giving him hell and thus the challenge he craved for so long. Schwarze was just as relentless as he was. But he was quickly turning the tide. He checked his fuel and his remaining ammo as he continued to dodge enemy attacks. However, he was frustrated at the other Belkan planes interfering in his fight. He figured he could take on Schwarze if he kept his flying unpredictable as he usually did. He had told Pixy to handle all the outside threats. He'd quickly learned that the Mig-31 could not outmaneuver his plane. He'd waited until they formed up for an attack then simply dove and turn. It was a simple high-speed yo-yo. He launched three of his four remaining missiles at the targets. Everyone began to break off, but for two planes it was impossible to run. Cipher was incredulous at the lack of countermeasures the enemy planes had. He guessed an enemy squadron that could shoot down friendly planes would be too concerned about such things. Cipher now turned his attention to the rather annoying interlopers on the outside of the area.

This was the last thing Jan needed. He was having difficulty controlling his plane from the friendly fire incident. It was only now that he realized that the proud air force he'd fought in for years was falling apart at the seams. It was collapsing right in front of him, and it was only now that he could pull himself away from the blind optimism he once had and do the only thing he could do: survive. The irony was obvious. Everyone had become vultures now; greedy, scavenging monsters only concerned with survival. It seemed the Round Table itself had changed. There was no thought of one day seeing the end of the war, there was no concept of nuclear weapons, of meeting a woman in Sudentor, having children, getting a decent living, making friends, and escaping from the horrid memory of days like this day. The only thing he could do was survive; and such a thing was almost impossible when an amoral, avaricious mercenary trains his gunsights on the very person who's sole goal was to survive.


	3. Fall From Grace

_**Present Day**_

Margaret shook her head in an attempt to make sense of the situation. No modern, civilized army, with a reasonable amount of common sense, would willingly do such things.

"Let me get this straight. They were fighting amongst themselves over who got to kill this guy? Why? It's nonsense!"

"Of course it doesn't. After that point, nothing made sense anymore. Nothing no one did was rational. The Obersalzburg burning, the Hoffnung burning, the nuclear bombs...but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"So what happened?"

"I was on the tail of Solo Wing Pixy. I was ready. I'd gotten in behind him just as he took out another plane. My plane was a bit damaged, but I took my chance and I had him. I had him in the _damn_ crosshairs..." Jan trailed off.

_**The Fall of Redtail**_

May 28, 1995

1218 hrs

Jan's fighter was wobbling a little bit, but he could still fly it well. The battle was heating up as the situation became more desperate for the Belkans. Jan had every right to be worried and he wasn't the only one. For the first time in his career, Zubov was beginning to worry. He'd lost five of his wingman in a mere few minutes. His mind was filled with confusion.

"What the hell happened?" he said simply.

Both Rosencrantz and Zubov had similar thoughts. How could this be happening? Why were they so good? Years of training meant nothing now. There were superior numbers of allied aircraft. The vice was slowly closing. Both men had to make a move...and quickly.

Jan turned his plane to avoid a possible lock on from a pursuing allied airplane. He looked all over this misterious "Demon Lord". The loss of family weighed heavily on him. It was obvious this man cared nothing for those he eliminated...even after the fighting was done. It was men like this that did not belong in the world. Perhaps this Ustio mercenary was born in the wrong century. Perhaps he should have been a pit fighter in the old ages. It would certainly suit him. Suddenly, a single fighter pulled up right in front of him and quickly turned left. Jan saw the enemy plane; it was Solo Wing Pixy. Jan quickly pulled up and quickly got a lock on. He figured if he couldn't find the leader, he'd probably get metal just for taking down his wingman. But this could be his last chance. Fuel was running low and the damage would not be forgotten.

As soon as he'd managed his lock, Jan's fighter suddenly began to drop like a rock. He was losing oil pressure. He couldn't believe it. He'd kept his fighter in tip top shape, now it had failed him when he needed it most. Not to mention the possibly of being at the mercy of the Demon Lord. There was no question on what to do now. He was facing northeast, away from the center of the Round Table. If he could bug out as fast as possible, he could get away and fight another day. He struggled to his plane level, but finally managed it...by flying upside down. It drifted to its side. Jan looked back and saw there was some smoke; however, he was maintaining good speed so far. He dropped the rest of his ordinance and began the delicate process of nursing his wounded fighter home. As far as Jan was concerned, Schwarze was their own.

Cipher was still laughing and having a good time. He taken out the sixth plane in the enemy formation. This "Vulture" was not living up his expectation. There were two enemies left and Cipher had three missiles to play with. He decided to end the battle as quickly as possible; he'd had enough of the charade. Pixy shared the sentiment, but he was bogged down by other enemy fighters. Cipher decided that Pixy could handle himself and went after the two remaining enemy planes. However, Cipher could make out what appeared to be a smoking fighter heading north. Now the question was, should he go after it?

"Ah, what the hell?" Cipher said.

Jan's gauges were going crazy. The radar was out and he decided he would be lucky if the ejection seat worked. Suddenly, the fighter had lost just about all of its hydraulic pressure. He jerked the control stick and ended up flipping the fighter around. All this time he was smoldering with anger. All of this damage was due to_ friendly_ fire.

"Ah, dammit! Damn those greedy bastards!" he said.

But just as he said that, he managed to right the airplane somehow. The Flanker was known for its ability to take punishment. However, just as he was about to turn the airplane around, he saw that image of death in his field of view. It was the Demon Lord and he staring him down. For Jan, it was the apocalypse. His blood turned cold as ice. For Jan, there was no escape now; it was over. Jan was finished.

For Cipher, the action was also on the verge of the end. He was tired of this awful resistance the Belkans were putting up. They were professionals alright, but they were just mere ants to be stepped on. He was only looking forward to his immense paycheck. What was in front of him was merely an easy target. He had no idea, or cared, this was an academy trained ace with a opulent family with a strong military tradition, that he could play the piano that he could speak eight languages, or that he read Aristotle on a regular basis. There was only the target; in Cipher's world there was no room for hesitation or compassion. He brushed it off with a simple 'oh well' and blasted his target out of the sky. As he turned, he was disappointed to see a parachute.

"Dammit! Am I have to shoot this prick down again? Next time, I'll strafe the burning wreck." Cipher thought.

Unbeknownst to Cipher, Wizard One was watching all of this unfold. By now, the fighting had completely changed and the Belkans were now on the run.

"Looks like we've given the Galm Team an opportunity to make more money." one of his wingman said.

"Interesting. He fights for all this money as if he's going to have it all when someone finally sends him to Hell. A fitting place for this...Demon Lord." Bristow said. He then lead the flight out of the Round Table, glad the battle had finally been one. The Belkans were falling back and the Round Table was secure. Over a year of fighting for a mere patch of desert came to a final, chaotic climax. The allies had gone in with 125 planes. They came out with about 60.

_**Present Day**_

"The instant that missile hit me, I punched out. I was only five seconds from burning to death in that plane. I was actually almost completely upside down, but I managed to come down alive somehow. I hit the ground hard and I was very bruised and scraped. It was then I realized that the war was over for me. I had no idea where I was. All I knew was that I was in the Round Table and I'd come down some a dozen miles from the center. The north was Belkan territory; the south was Ustio. But there..." Jan said pausing.

"What is it?"

"There's no sense of direction there. Communications were almost impossible. There were so many twisted metal pieces and shards there that magnetic interference was the norm."

"So it's a desert right? How'd you survive?" Margaret asked, concerned.

"I didn't."

"What? Wha...that makes no sense! Wait...you're speaking metaphorically, aren't you?" Margaret said, concerned and dumbfounded.

"In a sense. It's hard to describe to you what I saw there in terms you could appreciate. But I remember what I felt. I was angry. It was then I began to hate that man. I saw him above and I looked at him with the eyes of a desperate, angry man. There was no way to comprehend the amount of damage he'd done. And to think all of it was for money. There was no reason for someone like him to be there. Sure he helped the allied forces, but his interests were purely self serving. I wondered how our forces could lose to someone like that. He had not even the smallest sense of pride, no honor, no conscience, no concept of loyalty. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be."

Margaret could not hope to understand everything about what had happened to Jan, but it was obvious that this day had affected him deeply. And to think that if this didn't happen they never would have met at all. She cringed in horror and confusion as Jan told her all he'd saw there.

_**May 15, 1995**_

_**1235 hrs**_

Jan had spent under half an hour under the silk as he floated to the earth. He had to be careful where he landed; there were jagged pieces of metal everywhere. He came down nice and soft along a narrow dusty trail. The roar of the fighter jets slowly ceased and silence once again filled the Round Table.

Jan took one good look around. Some of his survival equipment had been destroyed in the ejection. The only things he had was a day's worth of emergency rations and a small supply of drinking water. But that wouldn't be enough. There was nothing but the sense of isolation and fear that gripped Jan. In combat, he'd never allow fear to overtake him. Now, he was all alone in a place he'd never seen in person but had seen a million times from the air. In reality, there was nothing glamorous about B7R.

His compass destroyed, and the sun almost directly overhead, it was impossible to tell exactly where he was. His only chance was to simply pick a direction and start walking. All around were pieces of metal. Metal here, shrapnel here, burned grass there, shattered, burned out cockpits and planes were everywhere. Inside the wreckage were burned corpses laying in twisted positions, frozen in eternity in their horrid state. There were none that stood out as unique though. One wrecked plane was not unlike another. Then there were the fires that already raged. In the distance, there were nothing but plumes of smoke. Some areas had large stacks of smoke and fire reaching into the sky. The atmosphere was dark and it was often difficult to breathe. And yet, this wasn't Jan's biggest concern.

It was the unexploded munitions that were everywhere. Heat seeking missiles and radar missiles of all types were all around. The Round Table was a death trap within a death trap. If the heat didn't kill you, the unexploded munitions would. Or the snakes. Or the falling airplanes. And all Jan could do was walk. As he kept walking, there was more than a sadness; it was depression. Jan felt as if he himself was walking toward death itself.

"Is this what Hell on Earth really is supposed to be?" he thought.

Of course, he wasn't the only pilot there. Dominic Zubov was also here, but some seventy miles away on the other side. His only thought was, "I've got to get the hell out of here!" He took of in another direction, irrelevant of the harsh, rugged conditions. For Zubov, survival was everything. If he could simply get to the next day, he'd have a chance. Then he'd disappear...but what then? Perhaps he could continue his work in secret, but where? Perhaps he could move close to the danger zones...like Oured. No one would ever think to look for him there; he'd disappear into the big shadow created by his enemies.

For Cipher and the rest of the allies, it was nothing but complete, unequaled victory. Yet, Cipher felt empty. His challengers were skilled but nowhere as skilled as he was. He still relished the experience and wished for more. For the allies, it meant that the war would soon be over. They'd broken the back of the Belkan Air Force; most of their experienced pilots were either dead or in POW camps. This was bad news for Cipher. He faced the horrible probability of actually running out of battles to fight. Battle was everything to him and to lose it, even a possibility of such, was not a very good thing to imagine.

"Yo buddy, you still alive?" Pixy asked.

"Of course. I feel more alive now." Cipher replied.

"We did it. We drove them off and now we can take the fight to the enemy's homeland."

"Yeah. Oh, that seems like an awesome venture." Cipher said while laughing.

Cipher was suddenly full of life again. The prospect of fighting the elite pilots was out, but the prospect of going into the Belkan homeland and causing as much destruction as possible seemed extremely enticing. Cipher decided to help bomb Belka back to the Stone Age. He was sure that many of the allied forces thought this too, even though they did not admit it. Going into Belka would probably make him like a kid in a candy store. But instead of wondering what candy he wanted, he wondered what he could destroy next. He'd get all he'd want soon enough.

_**Present Day**_

"It took me about two days to get to the border. But it was there that I realized I'd gotten turned around and ended up in Ustio territory. It only took them a few hours to find me. A well decorated ace like me was a prime target for intelligence...and prestige. I was taken to a makeshift Osean air base just south of Directus. At this point, there was no point in trying to bluff my way out of it. I was a POW after all and we were losing the war. What was the point in misleading them? So I told the interrogator this exact story and he believed most of it to my surprise. He didn't buy the intentional friendly fire incident though."

"So they let you go?"

"Not exactly. All I could think about while I was there was I saw there at B7R. There was nothing but death there. Destroyed planes here, there, and everywhere. It was quite...disturbing to say the least. The sad thing was that no one would ever be able to recover their remains. Only a select few were ever found. The rest were simply ghosts. They'd never find any rest. I imagine they're still there. Still wandering around that dead place. No one's even bothered to build anything there; not even a museum. For five weeks, I sat in a prison cell with some dozen other higher officers. They, for the most part, were quite defiant. They knew I'd talked. I guess they figured that because the guards never bothered me. They were quite bitter. They acted if they had a reason to fight on, even from behind the cell walls. For me, the war was over. It was a punishment of sorts for the way I lived. It was there that I realized that in combat I was no better than the Demon Lord, but even then the man had no pride nor nationality. Those things we were taught from birth."

Margaret then finally realized why he said nothing about what had happened. The typical delight of the soldier to see destruction is muted upon viewing of the results of that destruction. The glory and romanticism of air to air combat was quickly taken away. She walked over to the small chest Jan was sitting on and sat down right next to him.

"Then why did you leave if you loved the country so much?" she asked him.

"After we were released, I was essentially a wanted man. Some guy had blabbed to the Wing command, that somehow survived the war, that I'd cooperated with the enemy and I was pretty much a traitor. I wasn't the only one. So I fled. At the time, I was living up in Aachen with some relatives. My uncle was a ultra-nationalist and when he heard about it, he, like the people I helped fight to protect, wasted no time in throwing me under the bus. So I got the hell out of there and fled to Sudentor. I wasn't a big fan of Osea at the time, but it was better than being hunted down as a so-called war criminal. I'm probably still a traitor to them and they're probably still looking for me...but what the hell can they do to me now? It's been fifteen years. Some people will never let go. That's the real tragedy of it. We never knew when to quit. We lost the war at the Round Table. It was obvious."

"Why?"

Jan had forgotten that Margaret, smart as she was, was not expected to know the schemas of modern military doctrine. She probably wouldn't have known that control of the air was the first step in a successful war unless some one told her...and what regular person would bring that up in conversation?

"If one controls the air, one will control the war. That's the way its always been and always will be. But we kept on, even though there was no chance of success. I thought about what Osea eventually did, just annex this part of the land and suck it dry of its resources, but to prevent that...was it worth seven nuclear bombs? Was it worth all that? No...it never was. And no one's going to learn from the past. War is going to get bigger and stronger as technology increases with it. That's the real reason why no one wants a war anymore."

"I know...but we shouldn't worry about that. Our lives aren't about war anymore. There's so much we'd like to do but we can't because we're helpless. Just as you were helpless against him, as you said..." Margaret said wisely.

"I guess you're right. I guess there's still a part of me that's stuck in past; but no matter how hard I try to forget, I can't. I had leave everything behind, family, friends, a career just to survive. That's probably why I enjoy being around you and kids. I gained a deep appreciation for life...and for you guys. Anyone would, after living through that mess."

"You're so sweet. Hmm...what ever happened to him? You know...that Demon Lord guy or whatever." Margaret asked.

"Who cares? The man's probably dead by now. The way he lived...I'm sure Hell has a special place for him. All that money he earned was probably never going to a good cause. He only spent it on himself." Jan said in derision.

"Did anyone else talk about him?"

"I've heard many things. Almost all agreed with the theory that he was still alive and fighting in some war somewhere. Irrelevant of whatever actually happened, he'll always have a home on the battlefield."

"I kinda feel sorry for him. That's not a good life to lead. That's...that's kinda awful. Such a life is so lonely. The only thing he has time for his himself and that's it. He'd probably die alone somewhere and only the few would ever remember him. History won't remember someone like that. Now you...that's a different story."

There was a long pause from Jan.

"No. I never want to be in history. I don't want to be remembered for any of that. I've left my legacy...the kids. That's my history. And him...who knows...and who cares? He's just a black spot in our memories and he'll die with us. The kids will never learn about him...I hope. The Demon Lord was the perfect example of how not to live."

"So you still hate him?" asked Margaret.

"Well, yes and no. It's not going to bring my brothers back...but...what else can I feel? You have the ability to have pathos for him, but such a man is unrepentant. He wasn't the only mercenary I ran into. How do you have sympathy for those who incapable of basic empathy or at least some rules, even in war time? It was as if he wasn't even human and sure didn't care about his comrades from what I've heard. Like he'd ever learn from his mistakes. If he's alive, he's either fighting or tearing up a bar somewhere. If he's dead, I'd guess he'd having it coming. I guess we all get the lives we deserve..."

"That's kind of cold, but I see where your coming from. Did...you ever have any of that...post-traumatic stuff? I mean, you never said anything before now..."

"Sometime after there was some nightmares. But you either learn to cope with it, or it just eats at you. I guess I'm a success story."

There was no way for Margaret to be able to fully understand the experiences of her husband during the war. These things were so alien to her: aces, the Round Table, pride, honor...she could not come to grips with these things so soon. There was no reason she could believe that such men like this "Demon Lord" could exist. Such a thing was the measure of a myth, and yet there was the facts. She could read the reports, look at the pictures and see that Jan spoke the truth. However, there was the growing acceptance that perhaps it wasn't meant to be understood completely after all. All she could was lend her emotional support to what was, even though he cleverly hid it, a painful secret. So this was she came to comprehend the situation as he she placed her head on Jan's shoulder. All that was needed was her willingness to be there. Perhaps this the feeling that soldiers got when they were together. It was all she could do.

There was no way for Jan to know if the Demon Lord was still alive. But it didn't matter. The fear that had gripped him so long ago had faded away. In some twisted fashion, he had to thank that Ustio mercenary for helping him have such a good, peaceful life. Jan was one of the few lucky ones. There were those out there that still cringed in fear at the mention of that dark nickname.


End file.
